


In-flight

by Oparu



Series: The Tales of Maestro's Family [4]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-03
Updated: 2011-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-17 13:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>flirty, fluffy shuttle banter while Beverly and Kathryn are on their way to the <i>Titan</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In-flight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [touchdownpossum](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=touchdownpossum).



> This fic takes place in a pet universe of mine where Beverly and Kathryn have been together since the just after _Nemesis_ left them both on Earth. My series "Coffee in Bed" and my long fic come before this fic and will help make this one make more sense. Short answer: they were married in the end of Uncharted, Three is their unborn baby (Jean-Luc Picard is the father) Da Vinci is their cat.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asks, turning her head so her hair tumbles over her hand.

It's that look. Beverly knows it's that look but she carries on, blithely pretending not to know how she's looking at me. She's like that. Infuriatingly, I haven't learned how to respond to that look. Nothing I do: threatening her, cajoling her, pouting, staring back or distracting her with sex can make that look disappear.

It's the one where she's knows what I'm thinking. It's a Tuvok look, a damn Betazoid look, and it's a look I swore to myself I'd never get from my partner. I frown and turn away from her, focusing on the shuttle controls. She didn't even fight me for the pilot's seat, even though she does, occasionally when it suits her, fly the shuttle, more than half the time I do. She'd say it's because I like to be in charge. I'd say it's because Chakotay made me paranoid. Not aloud, of course, because then they'll team up and I'll never get anywhere.

"You're closer to the replicator," I reply.

She laughs, and shifts her legs in her chair. She has them pulled up to her chest, as I could, once, and no longer can thanks to Three staking a claim on my waistline.

Beverly rests her chin on her knee and maintains a lazy smile. "I replicate one when I get up."

"Of course you will." I lift my eyes to the stars between us and the _Titan_ docked at Utopia Planitia. The ship is still far enough away that Mars is a red dot in the front window. Too far to be having this conversation.

"Katie--"

If this descends into pet names, I'll lose. 'The Dancing Doctor' is a powerful weapon, but it's the only one in my arsenal. Beverly doesn't devolve quite as neatly as Kathryn and she burrows under my skin better than anyone else I know.

I sigh, rolling my eyes. "All right, all right, don't-- I'm thinking about sex."

She folds her lips and makes an attempt not to laugh. I should be grateful she made the attempt, but glaring at her feels better. I was thinking about sex at breakfast, while we were packing, more so after my shower and now, when I'm supposed to be flying the shuttle out to the _Titan_ , I'm thinking about slipping her out of her clothing and her nimble fingers on my thighs.

"We could put the shuttle on autopilot," Beverly offers, leaning over to kiss my cheek.

I wrinkle my nose slightly at her, not ready to be mollified. "How could you tell?"

"I just know," she says. Leaving her chair for the replicator, she orders herself a cup of coffee and a penny for me.

"Ancient metallic currencies are not programmed into this replicator," the computer replies to her request.

I pat the control panel. "She's on my side."

"It appears so." Beverly hands me her coffee: a peace offering.

I turn in my chair and take the cup. Heat sinks into my fingers and the smell of it warms me from the belly up. "What's the blend?"

"Picard forty-three," she says, settling back into her chair, legs up again; boots off. "Jean-Luc's a connoisseur of more than wine."

"Chakotay was always trying to get me off coffee." I swirl her cup and imagine the first sip. A good cup of coffee can be liquid gold or molasses in winter. This one is smoky, dark, like eating cherries before sunrise.

"Not off," she says, watching, "down to a reasonable level."

"Who decides what's reasonable?" I tease. Taking a sip has all the illicit glee of sex with the curtains open and the lights on.

Beverly rescues her coffee from my reluctant fingers. "Currently, whoever has the most medical training in this shuttle," she answers.

I can't compete with that. I spend a moment wondering what I can use my training for when this comes up again. Tactical situations may arise more when Three is a separate being from myself. Maybe there will be something from command school that works on a three-year-old.

"Sex again?" Beverly wonders, smirking.

"Toddlers."

"Oh." She raises both eyebrows, almost apologetically. "Maybe you are Jean-Luc will cancel out each other's stubborn genes."

"Negative interference?"

"Something like that." She doesn't sound hopeful. "Patience."

I have that. Somewhere. Maybe we should go back to talking about sex.

Beverly sips her coffee and Mars grows in front of us, red-orange and brilliant.

"Does it help if we have sex in the morning?" she asks, her coffee half-gone.

"No." I wish it did. I want sex. I want her, preferably naked, in bed, in the kitchen, in the bathtub; in this shuttle if I wasn't worrying about the amount of traffic between Earth and Mars. "Nothing helps. We have sex and I want to have sex again."

"Immediately?"

"Yes."

Well then," she says, smirking, "thank you, you're pretty incredible yourself."

I shut my eyes, wondering if I have a look that screams 'save me from my wife' as much as the other telegraphs my desire.

She finishes her coffee and stands, leaning over my shoulder with her lips near my cheek. "How long do you think dinner will take?"

"Hours." I mock sulk.

"Maybe not hours if you think loud enough."

I turn and Beverly's still smiling. A moment later I remember who we're having dinner with. Deanna will be able to read me in far greater detail than Beverly.

"Think she'll take pity on us and let us skip dessert?"

Beverly kisses me and heads for the replicator, leaving coffee on my lips. "If you think loud enough Deanna will skip dessert herself just to have her way with Will."

Surprised, I tilt my head. "I've never considered my thoughts to be an aphrodisiac."

"Kathryn, if I took you to Betazed they'd throw a festival in your honour." Beverly crosses her arms over her chest, chuckling. "A naked one."

"An orgy?"

"Wouldn't it be fun?"

"Do we have enough leave?"

She sighs, returning to reality. "No, not if we want to be on Earth when _Voyager_ returns."

I'm not giving up. "Maybe they'd like to go to Betazed."

Beverly insinuates herself between my hands and the control panel, resting my fingers on her firm thighs. "I love you."

Leaning down, she kisses me instead of waiting for me to reply. I swallow what I meant to say and welcome the heat of her tongue. When we break, I whimper.

"Not helping."

Beverly strokes my cheek, then returns to her chair. "Think loudly, you'll have all of us racing through dinner."

"Or we could have sex instead of the appetiser."

She considers the idea. "We'd have to be quick."

"We can be quick."

She lifts a threatening finger. "Quicker than this morning."

"I keep reminding myself love you." I tap the thruster a littler harder than I intended and we oversteer by ten degrees. A minor correction has us back on course, but she knows.

"It's very hard to be you, isn't it?" There's no real sympathy in her voice, of course.

"Extremely."

I can't help thinking of a full scale sex-festival on Betazed, which makes me think of having sex with Beverly all over again. She may have unwittingly discovered a perpetual motion machine powered by thought alone.

I correct myself. "Though it does have its perks."


End file.
